MASH
by Dani Pink Cloud
Summary: Castle and Beckett play M.A.S.H.  yes, that game you played with your friends in fifth grade . ONESHOT.


**Disclaimer: Okay, who honestly reads these?...But for the lawyers, I don't own Castle.**

**A/N: This is just a random scene from sometime after "Knockdown." That means after The Kiss. That's kind of important to the story's dynamic, just FYI.**

**Also, this is fully based on my own life and my friends. Yes, we're in high school and still playing M.A.S.H. Who doesn't? xD And yes, my friend does speak some Vietnamese. Finally, this is in honor of yesterday's Chinese New Year. Don't ask, just read and review!**

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An awkward silence stretched between Castle and Beckett, who were each scribbling away at their work, like a fraying rope used too many times. Beckett glanced over at Castle, trying to get a glimpse of his writing.

"No peeking!" he scolded her, covering it up with his arms.

"Wait, what is that?" Beckett asked curiously. It definitely wasn't his regular writing. Even without seeing the words, she had caught the format of the page, and as far as she knew novels were not written in chart form.

Castle's faced flushed. "Uh, the next Nikki Heat novel."

"So why are you staring at me like that? And why are you laughing?" she pressed as he added something else to the paper and laughed softly.

_You're the basis for the main character! _Castle's mind screamed, the perfect excuse. But Beckett was leaning in closer, and he could smell her intoxicating perfume, and he knew she knew he wasn't writing a novel. "It's M.A.S.H.," he confessed.

Beckett snorted. "What are you, ten?"

"Maybe mentally. Don't judge me."

"Too late," Beckett chortled. "M.A.S.H. . . . jeez, I haven't played that in years."

Castle just shrugged. Because the truth was, he played it by himself often, maybe because he was a ten-year-old at heart, but mainly for the first category, the one that had always fascinated him and the other kids the most: _Significant Other. _

Beckett was so right. He was such a ten-year-old. But of course that was way too embarrassing to admit.

Especially to the person who was always at the top of the _Significant Other _list.

"So. Who are you doing? For M.A.S.H.," Beckett clarified hurriedly, just to keep Castle's immature mind out of the gutter.

Castle smirked. "You."

"What?" Beckett seized the notebook, tearing it out of Castle's grip. She scanned the page. "Hey. I already have a job. And a significant other. And a salary . . ."

"It's a _game, _Beckett," Castle pointed out. "Calm down."

She stared at him with a weird expression on her face, a mix between annoyed and curious, wanting to play the game. "Well," she said finally, "I get to pick some, right? Those are the rules."

"Fine," Castle agreed. Rules – he hadn't played anything by those in a while. "Now. Choose two options for each category. I'll choose the other two."

Eventually, after a few arguments that resulted in several five-stars on Castle's arm, the M.A.S.H. chart was complete. Beckett complained, "You could've given me at least decent options."

Castle stared at her incredulously. "Come _on! _That's not the point of the game."

Beckett rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Aren't you supposed to –"

"Yes. Tell me when to stop." Castle started scratching tally marks onto the top of the paper.

"Stop," Beckett said instantly.

"Aww, I only got four," Castle whined.

"Too bad. Go," Beckett told him. Castle began obediently to count across the chart, scratching out Beckett's life choices gradually. For the next minute or two, Castle was silent, only smirking and grimacing when he scratched out and circled different options.

But, naturally, as the subject of the game, Beckett was nowhere close to silent. She leaned in close to see what Castle was doing and kept commenting, saying things like, "Yes, no pathological killer for a husband!" and, "Aww, man, there goes my billionaire status."

"Done!" Castle announced at last. "Okay. Listen up, this is your life." Beckett smiled and sat back to listen.

"You live in an apartment in New York City –"

"Such a change."

"With me as your significant other, one child, and a three-headed dragon for a pet. Hm, interesting . . . the kid can be Alexis . . . But I don't wanna live with you if you have a dragon –"

"Just keep going," Beckett snapped, blushing furiously. She felt like now she was the ten-year-old, getting so hung up on a stupid game . . . But she couldn't stop thinking about The Kiss . . . and now this had come along!

"Okay, okay. You're a homicide detective, making $100,000 a year." Both of them nodded appreciatively. "And you drive a beater." He scanned the paper to see if he'd missed anything. "Yep, that's it. Pretty good life you got there."

Beckett snorted, her cheeks still pink. "Except for some parts."

"Yeah, the dragon and the beater are a bummer . . ."

"And then there's you."

"Which makes it all worth it! Right?" Castle asked teasingly.

Beckett raised an eyebrow. "Right," she said sarcastically.

"Great!" Castle grinned.

"Oy! What's going on over there?" yelled Montgomery. "Playtime's over, boys and girls. Quit flirting!"

"We're not –" Beckett objected.

"We are," Castle corrected her. She glared at him. Montgomery, from across the room, rolled his eyes, shaking his head.

"Beckett, back to work. We need info on this guy. Come on, do your job; what else am I paying you for?" he scolded her. "Castle, go home."

Both of them immediately obeyed, Beckett turning back to her computer and Castle packing up his notebook.

Castle got up to leave and then said something in an unintelligible Asian language. Beckett frowned. "What?"

As he walked by her desk, laughing to himself, Castle answered, "Today's Chinese New Year."

"So what?"

"That was Vietnamese for 'Happy new year. Don't shoot me.'" Castle turned around, waved flirtatiously – _so annoyingly – _at Beckett, and left.

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**A/N: This is the part where you click that button in the middle and tell me what you think. Thanks!**


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